


A turkey tail ... uh, tale.

by geminiangel



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminiangel/pseuds/geminiangel
Summary: Happy Thanksgiving!





	A turkey tail ... uh, tale.

**Author's Note:**

> Last year, I stumbled on this challenge.....  
> With Thanksgiving comes the National Thanksgiving Turkey Presentation and, hopefully, another turkey pardon. The cynicism behind it makes this event a perfect inspiration.
> 
> Your November mission as the president of your own fanon universe shall be to spare a canonically dead or dying character's life. Whether you change the canon events leading up to their demise or intervene in the exact moment when fate is supposed to strike is up you to, but … 
> 
> Let's face it: only because one bird is pardoned, the president will probably still have turkey on Thanksgiving. In addition, most of the surviving birds die within a year after their pardoning anyway, thanks to how they were bred and raised.
> 
> Remember me mentioning cynicism earlier? Good, because here's a twist.
> 
> For each character you save, you must either sacrifice another immediately OR kill off the originally pardoned character(s) at a later time under different circumstances. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Alternative/Additional Challenge: Tell us a story—any story—from a turkey's pov.]
> 
> I couldn't harm our characters so I chose the alternative. This story I am relating to you just as Henny told it to me. Enjoy!

“I believe you are losing weight. You’re looking a bit…well, flat.” Thomas strutted around her in concern. “Are you feeling ill?”

“I feel fine.” She delicately fluffed her feathers and settled them tightly against her body.

“I’m not sure you are eating enough.” Thomas spread his tailfeathers in an impressive display. “We’ve been getting plenty of sweet corn lately. You need to eat more and fluff your feathers out a bit more when the humans are around. You’re making my rafter look bad.”

“Yes, sir.” She pledged; not meaning a word of it. Every year, a new Tom came on board and thought that he ruled “the rafter”. She had been here long enough to know her way around the yard. We’ll see, she thought to herself, who rules the roost come January. She watched “Thomas” as he called himself parade past the other hens. She might not be the youngest or the prettiest, but Henny prided herself on being smart. Settling comfortably on her chosen nest, she readied herself to lay an egg.

 

“They’re coming. They’re coming.” From her quiet corner, Henny heard the others tittering. Thomas had his feathers in a full display. She watched as he herded the rest of the hens towards the front of the yard where the humans could see their attributes.

“Look at that turkey. It is getting really big and plump.” Henny watched Thomas’ feathers ripple with pride. “Let’s take it.”

“That’s the tom, Susie. Your grandma likes to save the tom for Christmas when there will be more people at Christmas. We’re going to pick the prize hen from the others.” The doorway to the yard opened and the humans entered the yard.

“Why is that one sitting back there?”

“Ah, that’s the old lady of the roost. There is her fourth winter with us.”

“Really? I thought you only kept them a year, maybe two.”

“That’s true, but this turkey...” The man walked to where Henny sat and reach in under her pulling out an egg. “She produces eggs all year around. Of course, during the winter, we eat them. In the spring, she’s good for several new hens.”

“But all turkeys lay eggs.” The smaller human said.

“Well, all hens do.” The man agreed.

“So why keep her?” 

The man suddenly reach out and grabbed Henny from her nest and held her with her wings pinned. Smoothing his hand down her front he said, “Here, see her breast. Not much meat there. Look at her legs, they are not really plump. We could pick her, but she isn’t the best of the lot.” 

The small human carefully touched Henny feeling the thinness. “Poor turkey.”

“Maybe not so poor. She may not be a prize hen, but I keep her because she produces a lot of quality hens.” The man carefully released Henny who crept back onto her nest. “So, what do you say, we pick a nice plump hen out before your grandma thinks we got lost.”

* * *

Thomas watched proudly as the man complimented his hens. The man walked among them checking to be sure that they were nice and curvy. He was pleased as the man praised their figure, their bountiful thighs and their healthy feathers. He was thrilled as he heard the man talking about finding the prize hen. Thomas thought about the various hens. When he considered a prize hen, his favorite, Marietta would be at the top of the list; nice shapely legs, full breast and plenty of energy.

Trust that Henny to make the whole yard look bad. When these humans were gone, he was going to have a long talk with her. A sudden commotion caused Thomas to look around in alarm. The larger human had grabbed Marietta. As he watched the human took her out of the fence. Thomas rushed to the door but was unable to reach her in time. The smaller human took off towards the house across the open lawn while the older human took Marietta towards an old stump.

Henny watched Thomas as he stared at the scene unfolding. It was all fun and games in the spring and summer; food, frolicking and all the hens. Well, he was about to learn a lesson. Henny didn’t even flinch at the sound of the axe. She had seen this many times. With the fall came the sweet corn and then… whack. It had only take one time for Henny to catch on. No sweet corn for her. In fact, she was careful to eat only a minimum; making sure she stayed nice and not plump. 

“Marietta!” 

Henny sighed as Thomas staggered around the yard in shock. It was a shame really. Every year the same shock to each Tom. Of course, not as big of a shock as Christmas would be. That year’s Tom would run desperately around the pen, but it was inevitable, he would be dragged by the human out the door and … Come spring, there would be a new Tom or a new Thomas. Maybe she’d splurge on her diet a bit tonight. A few pieces of sweet corn, but tomorrow she would be back on the straight and narrow. No plump breast for this hen.


End file.
